Cassie Page 9

  ‘Hi, Hol,’ said Fern.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Mind if I come in?’

  Holly shrugged. Fern perched on the edge of the bed and looked around.

  ‘God,’ she said. ‘This place is tiny. I’m so sorry, Holly. I feel terrible turfing you out of your bedroom.’

  ‘It’s no problem.’

  ‘You can’t swing a cat in here.’

  ‘I haven’t tried, to be honest.’

  Holly wondered if the previous tenants had. That might explain the smell. Fern squirmed and put her hands on her knees, a sure sign of an impending sermon. Holly braced herself.

  ‘Do you hear bells in the morning?’ asked Fern.

  The question was unexpected. Did Fern think she had some form of mental illness? What was next? Did the voices tell you to cut off all your hair and disrespect your mother? Then she remembered the gentle tinkling that had become her alarm clock.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Are they something to do with Cassie?’

  ‘They certainly are,’ said Fern. ‘Cassie’s always been an early riser. Unfortunately. At home – back in Darwin – Cass had her own bedroom and, of course, when she woke up, she needed attention. Getting to the bathroom, getting breakfast. So she didn’t have much option. She used to scream. I tell you, Hol, it’s no fun being wrenched out of sleep by the sound of screaming. I’d wake in a cold sweat, thinking she was being murdered. Took me hours to calm down. I couldn’t drink coffee, I was that hyper.’

  Holly managed a weak smile.

  ‘The bells were Cass’s idea. I bought some wind chimes and hung them by her bed, so when she woke she could run her hands through them. Now I’m woken to the sound of tinkling bells and, let me tell you, it’s a great improvement. For everybody.’

  Holly nodded. But she knew her aunt hadn’t come to tell her this. There was sure to be a sermon lurking somewhere. It would turn up sooner or later. Sooner, probably. Sermons had a habit of doing that.

  ‘The reason I mention this, Hol,’ said Fern, ‘is because I see parallels between those bells and what’s happening with you and your mum.’

  So there it was! Not hiding at all. Did Aunt Fern mean she and her mum went at each other ding-dong? Like the clappers? But it was unlikely to be that simple. And she suspected the moral would be considerably more tiresome.

  ‘What I mean is that, sometimes, we need extra attention from those closest to us. Maybe we think we are being ignored or taken for granted. So we shout. We scream at the top of our lungs. And we don’t mean to be horrible or to scare or to hurt. We just want attention. But remember, Hol, sometimes we can get that attention with gentler means. By the tinkling of bells, rather than decibel count. Do you understand what I mean?’

  ‘Sure, Aunty Fern.’

  ‘Good girl. Think about it.’

  Holly did think about it. Why were adults such idiots? Bells and screams. Puhlease.

  Holly could tell Fern was happy though. She had a satisfied smile on her face, as if the sermon had been delivered just as planned. She’d probably spent ages polishing it. But she didn’t get much of a chance to enjoy her moment. Cassie’s screams from down the corridor made the two of them jump. It sounded like someone was torturing a cat. Maybe by swinging it. Fern leapt to her feet and rushed from the room.

  ‘Though sometimes bells just don’t cut it, Aunty Fern,’ said Holly to the bedroom door. ‘Sometimes only screams will do.’

  Holly

  My name is Holly Holley and this is my new evening routine.

  Listen to sound of my phone ringing. Note that the display reads ‘Private Call’ [before I deleted her number it said ‘Amy’]. Consider the two options – Answer or Ignore. Choose Ignore. Again.

  Experiment with make-up. Decide I’m getting better. No longer look like sick panda or corpse on CSI Miami.

  Wonder if I should risk going to the kitchen for dinner. Debate pros and cons.

  On the one hand, stomach votes in favour. Loud and indelicate intestinal rumbles suggest first stage of malnutrition.

  On the other hand, dinner is some kind of vegetable curry. Distinctive smell, like landfill site in full sun. Plus, would have to confront she-devil masquerading as mother. Decide death by starvation is preferable.

  Try on new clothes with items from existing wardrobe. Find all sorts of exciting possibilities.

  Ignore phone.

  Curse mother.

  Ignore phone.

  Curse mother.

  Cassie

  It takes effort to burst hearts. For me, at least.

  Everything shakes. My heart flutters. When I empty myself it is better. Empty but tight. I make the walls dissolve and I exist in whiteness, the centre of whiteness. The cursor floats in the landscape. I will myself into it.

  No more hearts. I am tired of hearts. I will lose myself in what I set out to do.

  It had been a miserable Saturday. Night closed over a fine, unenthusiastic rain.

  8

  Holly

  Sunday dawned and the sky was powdered blue, the air crisp and washed clean by rain.

  Holly had breakfast at nine. Her mother made toast with honey and she couldn’t think of a good reason to turn it down. She was starving. She could grab something from the Candy Bar at work, but popcorn and a choc-ice was hardly balanced breakfast fare. Not to mention the calorific intake. So she ate her toast quickly and tried to avoid her mother’s eyes.

  Nonetheless, Holly sneaked the occasional glance as Ivy bustled about the kitchen. Her mum seemed in an upbeat mood. Her body language, as she put plates down on the table, seemed to say that it was a new day, a new start. She even poured a cup of tea like it was a line drawn under the past.

  There was no sign of Fern or Cassie.

  ‘Are you watching a film after your shift?’ asked Ivy.

  ‘I thought I was grounded.’

  ‘You are. But going to a film is really just an extension of your shift.’

  Holly shrugged. As far as she was concerned there was no line under her past.

  ‘I thought it might be nice if you took Cassie to see a film. She hasn’t been out this weekend. Just stuck in front of that computer. It’s unhealthy.’

  Holly didn’t reply. That explained how lifting a grounding had been magically transformed into a shift extension.

  ‘Fern and I could drop her off at the cinema and then do a little shopping. That way, if there’s a problem, you could ring and we’d be right there. What do you think?’ Ivy rinsed a cup out in the sink and dried her hands on a tea towel.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Holly. It felt like an inventive form of punishment. Whichever way she looked at it, there was no such thing as a free movie. Apparently, she – Holly – could rot in her bedroom and her mum didn’t mind. In fact she encouraged it. Demanded it. But if Cass stayed in, it was cause for concern. Sure, Cassie hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Holly pushed that thought away. It wasn’t time to be reasonable.

  ‘Thanks, chicken. Is there a comedy on? Fern says Cass loves comedies.’

  ‘Yeah. A Mr Bean.’

  ‘Perfect. Any idea of the session times?’

  ‘Three-thirty, five-forty, eight-ten.’

  ‘We’ll get there about five-thirty, then.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Holly’s mum took her plate. When she spoke again, she had her back to Holly and the running tap drowned her words.

  ‘What?’ asked Holly.

  Ivy turned off the tap, but didn’t turn around.

  ‘I said, “Your hair. It’s not bad.”’

  A thin ray of sunshine brushed the kitchen table, but it was pale and had little strength.

  Fern

  It took longer than expected to prise Cassie from the computer. For a few moments, Fern was worried Cassie would throw another tantrum. She didn’t think she had the energy to fight that, though as a last resort she was prepared to put her foot down. Her daughter had barely been off the damn machine all weekend and she was pasty and tir
ed. Getting out would do her good. And maybe Ivy was right. A film, particularly one with Mr Bean whom Cassie loved, might be a welcome break.

  Even so, Fern wished her sister had discussed it with her first. She didn’t like the idea that Holly might view Cassie as part of a punishment. Things were difficult enough already. But it was too late now. Ivy had presented it to both of them in the bedroom. And it would be cruel to stop Cass going on a point of principle. Still . . .

  At least Cass seemed to be giving the hearts program a break. Fern thought she’d scream at the sound of yet another heart popping. Whatever Cass was working on now was beyond her. There was a keyboard on the screen and another couple of windows open. Apart from that, it was a mystery. Eventually, Cass was persuaded to shut down the computer. She had to save what she was doing and that took ten minutes. Finally, she was ready. Fern pushed her into the sunshine and then into the car.

  Holly

  Holly finished work at five. As soon as she had balanced her till, she went to the ladies’ to get changed. She hadn’t brought her new dress. She wasn’t that desperate. But she’d put jeans and a new top into a plastic shopping bag, along with the new make-up. True, it wasn’t a date with Raph McDonald, but why not look her best? Her hair had flattened out after a couple of days of washing it, and it resembled a limp mop. So she put in some matt wax she’d bought at the hairdresser’s suggestion. If Demi had been there, she would have been transformed in a minute or two. After fifteen minutes, though, Holly was pleased. She didn’t look as good as she had on Friday night – she’d never look as good as she had on Friday night – but the results weren’t bad. She practised a smile in the mirror. Not hot. She couldn’t say hot. But definitely this side of warm.

  Amy was waiting for her as she left the ladies’.

  Holly attempted to brush past, but Amy stepped in front of her. She seemed stunned at her friend’s appearance, but quickly recovered.

  ‘Holly, please. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘But I have nothing to say to you, Amy. Nor am I interested in your pathetic apologies. Now get out of my way.’

  ‘I’m not here to apologise.’

  Holly felt a surge of anger. A tic pulsed at the corner of her eye.

  ‘Yet another reason why I don’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘Hol, please. Just give me two minutes.’

  Holly glanced at her watch. It was nearly five-thirty.

  ‘I am meeting a friend, Amy. You wouldn’t understand anything about that. I have to go.’

  This time, when she brushed past, there was no resistance. Holly took a few paces into the cinema foyer.

  ‘It’s about Demi Larson. She’s using you.’

  Holly, stopped, turned and retraced her steps. Amy stood her ground.

  ‘I overheard them talking, Holly. You’re just a game to them. A project. They laughed at you, Hol.’ Amy’s voice broke and she choked back a sob. ‘They laughed at you.’

  Holly put her hands on her hips. The silence stretched.

  ‘You know something, Amy? You’re pathetic. You are a sad, pathetic, lonely person.’

  ‘Holly . . .’

  ‘And jealous. That’s what all this is about. Jealousy. You can’t stand it that I am changing, that I am finding new friends.’

  ‘It’s not like that.’

  ‘Stick to your books, Amy. It’s all you’ll ever be good at.’

  This time, when Holly left, Amy did nothing to stop her. She watched as Holly walked over to where Fern, Ivy and Cassie had entered the foyer.

  ‘Sorry we’re late, chicken,’ said Ivy, panting a little. ‘Had trouble getting Cass separated from the computer. Had to use a crowbar, didn’t we kiddo?’

  Cassie screeched and twisted in her chair.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind, Hol?’ asked Fern.

  ‘Not a problem.’

  ‘Do you want me to wheel her into the cinema?’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Holly. ‘We’ll be right. You guys do some shopping. The movie finishes at seven-fifteen, so we’ll see you here.’

  Holly

  My name is Holly Holley and I am angry and nervous.

  I wheel Cassie down to the designated disability area – about three rows from the front. No drama. The cinema is only about half full. I park her in the space between two rows and take the seat next to her. It’s strange not having drinks and popcorn, but I figure it’ll be too difficult, and distracting, to feed Cass, particularly in the dark.

  I am not looking forward to the movie. It’s not that I mind Mr Bean. He can be pretty funny. But it’s not the kind of thing I want to watch again and again. I only saw it two weeks ago. Anyway, seeing Amy has soured my mood.

  Cassie screams with laughter as soon as Mr Bean’s face appears on screen. He hasn’t even done anything, just looks around with that rubbery, vacant expression. The noise is like a siren going off in my ear. I jump about a metre in my chair and then glance over my shoulder. This is going to be embarrassing. If Cass thinks this is funny, I dread to think how she’s going to react when the plot gets going.

  I don’t have to wait long to find out. In the opening scene, Mr Bean is in the back seat of a taxi, playing with the electric windows. The cab pulls up and he gets out, catching his tie in the window as it hums closed. The taxi takes off down the street with Mr Bean running beside it, his face pressed and distorted against the glass. I remember laughing the first time. Now I flinch.

  Cassie doubles over in her wheelchair, shrieking. I can’t think of another word that does justice to the noise she produces. Laughter is usually infectious. Not in this case though. Not when you’re in a cinema with dozens of people behind you and you’re sitting next to someone making more noise than a heavy metal concert. I hear tutting and a few hisses for silence.

  ‘Hey, Cassie,’ I whisper. ‘You need to keep the noise down a bit. People will complain.’

  I think she tries. It’s difficult to tell. She certainly stops laughing when I say that. Her face is bathed in screen light. Her eyes are wet, and distorted images from the film flicker across them. I smile and squeeze her arm in encouragement.

  It’s Mr Bean’s attempt to try on a new suit that really does the damage. He gets his arms into the wrong holes and splits the back of the jacket. Then he snags a part of himself on his zip, and his mouth forms a perfect O of pain and surprise. Cassie’s screams drown out all other noise. I make a grab for one of her hands but they are moving too quickly. Alarm is like a physical lump in the pit of my stomach. Then I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  The woman isn’t nasty. In fact, she is very polite.

  ‘Could you get her to keep the noise down, love?’ she says.

  ‘I can’t hear myself think back there.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘She’s disabled.’ I want to take the words back as soon as I say them, but it’s too late.

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ says the woman. ‘But I’ve paid to see this film. And hear it. I’m entitled to some consideration.’

  Just for a moment, I feel anger stirring. Cass is entitled to consideration as well. And it isn’t like the soundtrack is important to a Mr Bean movie. As long as your eyes work, you can stick ear plugs in and still enjoy it. I want to say this.

  I don’t.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’ll try to keep her quiet.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Fern. ‘I’m looking tomorrow.’

  ‘But why?’

  Fern swirled the wine round in her glass, but didn’t drink. ‘You know as well as I do, sis.’

  ‘I don’t. You have a place to live.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Ivy. This thing with Holly. The two of you at each other’s throats. You don’t have to be a genius to work out why. All the . . .’ Fern waved her arms helplessly, ‘. . . disruption. We are . . . not a good influence. It’s time for us to go.’

  Ivy shook her head.

  ‘That’s nonsense, Fern, and you know it. It’s nothing to do with you and Cassie.
You said it yourself. “She’s trying on adult clothes.” You can’t seriously think she’ll turn into an angel just because you leave. Come on, Fern. You’re tired, you’re stressed. Give me and Hol a chance. And give yourself a break.’

  Fern cupped her hands around her glass and bowed her head.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘Put myself in the front seat for a change? Can’t be done, sis. The front seat’s Cassie’s. Always will be. And nobody seems to understand that but me.’

  Holly

  Holly knew they were coming.

  She didn’t hear them. She didn’t see them. But she sensed their presence. Cassie must have known they were coming as well, because her laughter choked and died moments before a hand thumped down on Holly’s shoulder and twisted her round in her seat.

  ‘Hey,’ The face was pressed close. Holly could smell popcorn and a sharp boy-scent. A fine spray of spittle flecked her cheeks.

  ‘Get her to shut up, you stupid cow, or I’ll shut her up for you.’

  Holly’s mouth dried. She wanted to back away, but the face was too close. A hand bunched into her new top and kept her fixed. She tried to speak, but her tongue was heavy, lifeless. When a voice did come out it sounded brittle, strange, as if it belonged to someone else.

  ‘She’s disabled,’ Holly croaked.

  And then the tears came, though she fought them. Was that all she could say? In that moment she saw herself from the outside, an observer. It’s not my fault, she seemed to be pleading. I’m not disabled. I’m just stuck with someone who is. Take pity on me. Holly’s tears flowed quicker. She hated herself.

  ‘You’ll be disabled if you don’t get her to shut up.’

  He wasn’t alone. There were three or four of them. They surrounded Holly’s seat, sucking the air away so she couldn’t breathe. She tried to swallow her fear, but her stomach clenched. She nearly puked. A finger loomed against her eyes, a fat, pale blur.

  ‘Do you hear me?’

  Holly nodded.

  The boys left. She could hear them laughing as they made their way to the back seats. One gave another – the boy who’d done the talking – a high five.

  Raph McDonald accepted it like a badge of triumph.